Unspoken Words
by Cari7
Summary: Takes place after "Forgiving" Season 3.


**Unspoken Words**

Lying on the couch, Wesley had been trying to let his mind drift away from its current state of chaos.

At first it had seemed a futile attempt, but as time passed he found himself thinking of the past.

Not the recent past, that was far too painful, but of a past farther away.

It was painful too but time heals all wounds and compared to more recent events, it seem almost pleasant.

He sighed, realizing just how depressed he must be if he were remembering his childhood with almost fondness.

Not that it was all bad, of course, and so he picked something out of his memory to think about that was actually pleasant and not just in comparison to his current mood.

Mrs. Thorne.

Wesley smiled slightly. Mrs. Thorne had been one of his grade school teachers. She had had chestnut colored hair, shot through with grey and she smelled like apples. She always smiled- somewhat of a rare thing among the teachers at his school, and he had never heard her raise her voice.

As Wesley thought about her, he was suddenly reminded of an exercise she'd given the class one dark, wet day when the rain had come down in sheets and it looked as if it might never stop.

"Think of a person who has wronged you." She told them. "Or think of a person you have wronged yourself. Think about how they look, how they sound… until they are so clear in your mind that you are tempted to speak to them."

She paused, looking directly at Wesley.

At least it had seemed to him that she was looking at him. It was one of the things he particularly liked about Mrs. Thorne; the way she had of making him feel as if he were the only person in the room.

"All right then." She continued. "If you have that person in your mind, I want you to talk with them. Write down how you feel. Tell them how they've wronged you, and how you feel about that. Tell them how you've wronged them and how you feel about _that_."

A murmur raced around the room and several of the boys squirmed a bit in their seats.

Mrs. Thorne's smile widened. "This will not be turned in to me. I will not look at it. In fact," she picked up the wastebasket and put it on the table they turned their assignments in on. "If you like, you may tear it up into tiny shreds and place it here when you are finished."

"Then what is the point?" Wesley said sullenly before he could stop himself. Mrs. Thorne's attention was on him again and he felt the heat rise to his face.

"I apologize…" he began.

"No, no need." Mrs. Thorne said to him, smile still unwavering. "Thus far in your life your assignments have had tangible outcomes. This one does not. However, that does not mean it has nothing of lasting value."

"Of course, Mrs. Thorne. I meant no disrespect." Wesley said.

"Of course not Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." She said without a trace of condescension. "Try the exercise. If nothing else it will give you a way to… vent."

With that, she had left them to their assignment.

Wesley thought about the paper he wrote that day. It was a letter to his father. He didn't remember the specifics of it, only that it has started out rather formal and restrained and quickly dissolved into a rambling tirade about how horrible he felt when his father was around.

It was full of hate and anger and words he would never, ever say to his father, or anyone for that matter.

He was sweating and shaking by the time Mrs. Thorne entered the room again.

She met his gaze steadily for a moment.

"If you are finished," she said softly, eyes still on him. "You may go to Study Hall."

A few of the boys rose and went to the front of the room. Most went directly to the wastebasket and tore their pages up.

The room was silent except for the sound of tearing paper.

Wesley sat and waited until the last of the boys had gone.

"Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, your father came to see me yesterday." Mrs. Thorne said.

"Yes ma'am." Wesley said softly staring at the words on the paper in front of him without really seeing them.

"He went into great detail about his goals for you. His vision of your future. Things he would like to see you do." Mrs. Thorne said as she began erasing the chalkboard.

Wesley swallowed.

"I imagine," Mrs. Thorne continued. "That living up to such expectations can be quite a… challenge."

"Yes." Wesley said softly.

Mrs. Thorne nodded. "I also imagine that those expectations have been pressed on you a great deal. That they may have become somewhat of a… burden. And with burdens comes resentment."

Wesley raised his head and locked gazes with the teacher.

"Yes." He said clearly.

Again, Mrs. Thorne nodded. "You must know that you will achieve whatever you wish to achieve."

"I don't think my father believes that." Wesley said hesitantly.

"What YOU wish to achieve, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce." Mrs. Thorne said. "There is a difference. I suspect that if you read what you have written, you will see that you understand this difference, although you have not been able to express it to him. Yet. Except for what you have written there of course."

Wesley scanned the page. One sentence stood out from the jumble.

"I know what needs to be done and I can do it." He whispered softly.

"I think that the rain is stopping. Good. I wanted to work in the garden today." Mrs. Thorne continued to erase the board. "Run along to Study Hall."

"Yes. Thank you Mrs. Thorne." Wesley said as he approached the wastebasket. He turned the page in his hands, and hesitated. Without a word he folded the page and tucked it inside his uniform blazer.

That page was now hidden away in a box in the closet. Wesley had the urge to dig it out and look at it now, but he never had, not since the day he'd written it. If he'd been asked why he kept it, considering what trouble it would have caused had his father found it, he wouldn't have been able to explain except to say that those words gave him some peace.

No, his father had never read them or heard them from him but when the lectures came Wesley would think back to how, for one moment, he had had the strength to say exactly what he thought. Those words existed. Those feelings had come out of him.

Somehow, it gave his feelings validity.

Wesley rose from the couch and went to his desk. He started to turn on his laptop but then thought better of it.

This called for pen and paper.

Retrieving five pieces of writing paper from a drawer, Wesley labeled each one in turn, "Fred", "Gunn", "Cordelia", "Lorne" and "Angel".

Staring at the one titled "Fred", he drew a deep breath and began to write.

**FRED**

_I love you. _

_It is somewhat doubtful that I will ever say those words to you. Yet they are true. I don't know when it happened or why it happened exactly, just that it did._

_But I am always second guessing what is there, what is real. I'm always careful and cautious. Always afraid that if I move too soon or too fast, the outcome will be disastrous._

_And so I didn't tell you how I felt, and Gunn didn't have that problem._

_But if Gunn was the problem before, he certainly isn't now. _

_You've deserted me._

_Certainly, I understand. How could you not side with Angel? I took his son; I didn't trust him and I didn't tell you what I was going to do. _

_I didn't trust you. I am sorry for that. I wish I could make you understand the torment I was in, how frightened I was for the baby and for Angel himself._

_I was going to leave. I was going to run and never come back. _

_He never would have stopped hunting me._

_Even if I could have trusted you not to go to Angel, how could I ask you to live like that?_

_And… what if you had refused me?_

_I feared that too. I didn't want to know what that would feel like._

_Then, you turned your back on me in my hospital room. Told me to never come back. Told me that Angel would kill me and then you walked away._

_Now I know how that feels. _

_You understand why I did what I did, I know you do. How could you not spare some of the grief I saw in those dark eyes for me? _

_For what I intended to do, instead of condemning me for what I did._

_I love you, Fred._

_I love you._

Wesley carefully read the words he had written. Then he folded the page in half and tore the selfish, painfully words in into thin strips, letting them flutter through his fingers and into the wastebasket.

That finished, he placed the sheet labeled "Gunn" in front of him and began to write.

**GUNN**

_I envy your vision Charles. You see things so clearly: good and evil. Even when confronted with things that you previously saw only as evil: Angel, demons like Lorne, you manage to change your perception to fit them in where they belong without losing your vision._

_Do you see me now as evil? I almost understand if you do. _

_We were friends, there's no other word for it. The things we went through together, we forged a bond, you and I. _

_You and Angel couldn't do that and yet you see his side. _

_Only his side._

_But then no one sees my side, not even me sometimes. I look in the mirror, I see a wound on my throat and I think that it might have been better if Justine had cut a little deeper. _

_You know why I did what I did. That's the trouble with this: I had the justification. _

_Sometimes it's not a matter of good or evil. Sometimes there is just no way around doing a bad thing._

_And then there is Fred. _

_You took her from me, even though you don't know you did. _

_When I saw you kissing at the ballet, I felt the same way I did when I was shot. _

_I know I'm to blame for not making my intentions known sooner. _

_For not telling her how I felt before you found the words._

_But beyond that, how could you?_

_How could you not see what I wasn't even able to completely admit to myself?_

_How could you take her from me?_

_And how dare you leave me without her, and without your friendship?_

_Sometimes the ends do justify the means._

_I thought this would be one of those times._

_I thought what I read was real._

_I thought what I was doing was right._

_Is it my fault that I wasn't?_

_Good and evil, Charles. It's not always so clear._

Again, there was the reading and folding and tearing. Although Wesley had started this as a way of relieving some of the pain and anger he felt, he was slightly surprised to find that it was really working.

Reaching out, he slid the page named "Cordelia" in front of him. He stared for a moment at the name, trying to decide what he needed to tell her. In his head he heard Mrs. Thorne cluck her tongue in disapproval. This was not about need after all, but about want. What did he _want_ to tell Cordelia?

Without any more hesitation he began to write again.

**CORDELIA**

_You've come home to a horror, I know. _

_I was wrong. There was a time when I was sure you would have given your left Gucci shoe to hear those words from me. We were both younger in experience then._

_But not now. Not in this._

_Whatever Angel and the others told you I did, it's true._

_All of it. _

_I took Connor. He ended up in Holtz' hands and, from what I'm told, he is now God knows where in a Hell dimension._

_Perhaps he is even dead._

_It's a horrible thing to say, to think. But everyone is thinking that I'm sure. Which would make me a murderer in a way._

_You and I know Angel better than the rest of them. We know what he is capable of. Can you really blame me for what I did? Can you blame me for believing the prophecy? _

_Of course you can. Because it was false. Because Connor is gone._

_Because I was wrong._

_You all turned to me, looked to me to find the answers. And so many times I've been right. Even about things I wasn't sure about, I was right!_

I was so sure about this. I researched it, I watched Angel. There wasn't a doubt in my mind about what was going to happen.

_But I was wrong._

_One time I was wrong and it cost me everything._

_Is that fair, Cordelia?_

"It's all about me." Wesley sarcastically mumbled under his breath and almost laughed as he realized that once upon a time Cordy had been the selfish one among them. Of course she had been open with her feelings. He was sure that she had never resorted to an exercise like this.

He sighed, wishing for that time again as he tore up the finished page and reached for the next.

**LORNE**

_How many times do you curse the day I walked into Caritas for the first time? You have been through so much since Angel Investigations darkened you door. I know you would have been happy to live out your life on stage and away from everything we've gone through._

_Forgive me Lorne. For everything._

Looking at the page, Wesley realized he had nothing more he wanted to say. The others, he harbored some anger toward because they had shut him out. But Lorne… Lorne had gone through so much, just by being associated with them and the last thing Wesley had done was knock him out to get to Connor.

There wasn't a lot he could feel about that except for shame.

"Speaking of which." He whispered, looking at the next sheet that said "ANGEL" at the top.

He picked it up and placed it carefully in front of him. He thought about all the things he had wanted to say to Angel in the years they had been co-workers and friends. Some of them were about how grateful he was that Angel had taken him on, given him a chance to be part of the team. That Angel had trusted him even when he appeared to be incompetent at times.

And some of the things in his head were dark, and angry. How Angel was a dictator at times, expecting him to follow orders without question.

But those were all things that didn't matter anymore.

He began to write.

**ANGEL**

_I am sorry. What I've done to you is nothing less than a crime. I know that you understand everything. You told me in the hospital that you did and I believe you._

_But it doesn't matter, does it?_

_None of the rest of us can ever grasp the pain you are in right now. _

_You had a son. That is impossible but it happened. A miracle. That I was the one who took that away from you makes losing Connor even more terrible- for all of us_

_I know you trusted me, Angel. I know that you looked on me as your friend. And to me you were my friend, my comrade, even a teacher and a mentor to some degree._

_And what defense do I have for this betrayal? Only one:_

_Angelus._

_I've read the history, I've seen glimpses. Can you deny that you fear his return as much or more than the rest of us?_

_How could I stand by when all the signs pointed in one direction?_

_Did you think that I could let something happen to Connor?_

_Do you think I could let you do something to Connor? What if I had? What would you think of me then?_

_Your anger is justified but I know that you know that what I say is true._

_You didn't kill me in the hospital. Maybe you thought you tried, but how many times have you "tried" to kill someone? _

_I remember telling you once that you walk a fine line in your life and that I didn't envy you. _

_I fear I'm walking that line now. _

_In my quest to do the greatest good, I've done the darkest evil. _

_In the process I've lost everything to anchor me, Angel._

_I need you and the others… but you aren't there._

Wesley swallowed the lump in his throat and winced at the pain it caused him. Quickly, he tore the page up and threw it away.

He'd thought that this was helping, and perhaps it had been, up until now.

The truth was that his anger and hurt was gone, but what had replaced it was a feeling of emptiness.

He was hollow and he was alone.

For the first time since he'd come to LA, he was on his own without Angel or anyone else to turn to.

Going to his closet, he took a box off the top shelf and after a moment of searching inside it, found what he was looking for.

The folded page was yellowed now. Unfolding it, Wesley scanned the page. One sentence stood out from the jumble.

Walking back to the wastebasket, he carefully tore the old letter into bits and dropped it in with the rest.

"I know what needs to be done and I can do it." He whispered softly.


End file.
